


intravene

by heartcondition



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Background Cheolsoo, Blood, Casual Relationships - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Neo-Seoul, Polyamory, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 10:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18776338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartcondition/pseuds/heartcondition
Summary: Soonyoung misses the times when the city would burn bridges, alliances, or even the occasional political effigy.These days, Neo-Seoul seems to be burning with slightly less organization.





	intravene

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiii its me again. i wrote this while avoiding my yearsventeen . . . this sort of borders on crack territory but i take it so seriously im not sure it counts. this fic is a near-futuristic modern au set in seoul where a significant portion of the population has a superpower. if this seems like a bunch of random shit strung together, well, thats because it is! also the title is a play on words i swear. i promise i know how to spell intervene and intravenous. 
> 
> explanation of some made up terms/abbreviations that come up:
> 
> > PIA: Power Index Association, governmental committee whose purpose is regulation/legislation specifically for those who have powers.  
> > PIP: Power Index paperwork, essentially governmental paperwork that catalogues citizens w/ powers, has to be updated every few years, sort of like a census.  
> > PI score: Power Index score, ranked from 1-10 in terms of increasing danger/risk possibility. Re-rankings happen frequently.  
> >The Syndicate: overarching group of active villains in Seoul  
> >Hero's Assembly: overarching group of active heroes in Seoul
> 
>  
> 
> enjoy! (i hope)

 

“Uh,” Soonyoung says.

They guy leaning out of the window startles a bit when he really gets a look at Soonyoung, the frame old and squeaky when he saw somebody in the alleyway, pried it open. “Are you okay, man?”

Soonyoung looks down at himself to really take stock of the current situation. His stupid little convenience store uniform, which, at one point, was a horrific bright green, is now splattered with an equally horrific amount of Soonyoung’s own blood. He looks up too fast, thinking absently about how the window frame looks like it's going to slide closed on this guy’s back, and gets dizzy with the movement of it.

“I’m good,” Soonyoung says weakly. He wipes his hands on his thighs, leaving palm shaped streaks of blood along the roughness of the denim. “It’s just that—I think my allotted break time is over, and I really can’t afford to get fired.”

The stranger laughs a little, anxiously gripping the edge of the window. The lamp from his bedside table is throwing a perfect rectangle of hazy yellow light out onto the concrete, leaving the silhouette of him in a hard to make out glow. He eyes Soonyoung.

“Looks like you lost a lot of blood,” he says warily.

“Yeah, that's why I’m still sitting on the ground,” Soonyoung says, sighing. The window slips and catches after closing another inch. Soonyoung shifts, feeling like there's a little bit of gravel in his shoe.

The stranger looks up and down the alleyway, smiling lopsidedly when the scan comes up empty, save for Soonyoung still sitting on the ground. “I can—uh—help you with that, actually,” he says, nodding towards what Soonyoung assumes is the mess splattered across his face and uniform.

“No offense,” Soonyoung says, “but a tide to go stick isn’t really what I’m looking for.”

The guy in the window laughs like he’s been caught off guard and surprised, each syllable of it separated and cut off from the others; _ha-ha-ha._ He waves his hands in front of him, making an X with his forearms, and shakes his head.

“I’m super,” he says conspiratorially. “The healing kind.” He pauses thoughtfully. “My roommate usually does the laundry, anyway.”

Soonyoung feels clammy, lightheaded, probably looks a little pallid in the alley’s half dark, yellow light. “Me too,” he says, mouth fuzzy. He runs his palm over the chest pocket of his uniform, and the blood seeks back out of the fabric in its path, clings to his hands like a mask, rippling eerily when he holds it up to the light. “Not—healing obviously. The haemokinetic kind.”

The stranger makes a face, expression open. He tilts his head. “Can’t you just…put it all back in, then?”

Soonyoung wrinkles his nose. “No, that’s like, a biohazard or something.” He shakes his head, then his hand, blood flinging away from it like raindrops onto the concrete, and achily straightens out one leg. “I don’t know how dirty this vest is. It’s probably contaminated.”

The stranger glances behind him into the dark of the apartment. “Do you wanna come in for a minute so I can help you? My roommates not home right now, so he can’t get mad about it.”

Soonyoung gives him a dead eyed look, gesturing at the overall state of himself. He’s pretty sure if he stands up, he’ll pass out. Then he’ll _really_ need a healer.

“Right,” the guy says bashfully. “On second thought, I’ll come to you.” With effort, he wrenches the window open further, then slings his legs over the sill, one after the other. It’s roughly a three foot drop from his apartment, and he lands on the concrete easily. Soonyoung pulls his leg out of the way, puts his weight down on his palms to sit up straighter, make room, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Dizzy?” the stranger says curiously.

Soonyoung tips his head back against the bricks of the opposing apartment building, cracking an eye. Noncommittally, he hums. “So how does this work? I knew a girl in high school who could get all the knots out of your back just by looking at you a little funny.”

The stranger shifts his weight, scratching at the back of his neck a little. “I’m not like that,” he says. “When the problem is internal like this, it’s best to just—hold hands?” His smile is embarrassed, a wavy line drawn in wet sand.

Soonyoung laughs, light and stringy, offering up his palm. The stranger takes it, clasps them together like a pact.

“I’m Soonyoung,” Soonyoung says, by way of filling the stiffening silence. His hand flexes absently in the stranger’s own, tendons shifting and bunching up with ease. “This feels weird,” he adds. The guy glances up at him evenly. Soonyoung’s ears are hazy red.

“That’s what people usually tell me,” he replies. He smiles, blurry around the edges. His focus falters briefly, but he fixes his grip, looks away and then back again. The window slides shut. “I’m Hansol.”

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung sags against the back entrance of the convenience store, catching his breath with his weight on the cool metal of the chipping, painted door. He wishes the manager would make real use of the security cameras, or the Syndicate would chill the fuck out for a month or two so petty criminals could stop robbing the store while he’s groveling for minimum wage pay, leave him in peace.

He got himself hired for the night shift when the manager saw his application had a top rank PI score, then took the pay under the table, and failed to ever mention that no, he actually doesn’t know how to use his powers for anything but amusing himself, and really is not equipped to take on the string of small robberies occurring in this neighborhood, but. The pay. The schedule that never interferes with classes. It was too perfect to let pass by. Soonyoung breathes in, turns around, and opens the back door.

“Oh,” he says, standing in the doorway, and there’s Hansol, standing at the register, looking like he just gave in to buying one of those shitty 1000 won chapsticks corporate has everyone keep by the register to bait people.

Hansol looks up from his collection of items scattered across the checkout counter, gets met with Soonyoung’s 500 kilowatt slasher movie smile and the ever jarring sight of all the blood soaked into his uniform flowing in rivulets back towards the palms of his hands.

“Hi again,” Hansol says. There’s an old pop song playing tinnily through the speakers. Soonyoung doesn’t know how the hell to change the station.

“We should stop meeting like this,” Soonyoung says, then winces. It sounded better in his head than it did coming out of his mouth.

Hansol fiddles with the tab on the plastic nori package he’s got laid out by the register. He gestures at Soonyoung’s bright red stain situation loosely, foot tapping out the pop song’s beat. “Does this store really get robbed that much?”

Soonyoung grimaces, nodding. “I guess when criminals see me through the window, I look pretty non-threatening.” He eyes Hansol’s snack choices curiously, feeling the blood already starting to dry. “I’ll, uh, go clean up real quick. Then I can get you all checked out.”

Soonyoung nudges the employee restroom door open with his hip, hands held up like a surgeon whose gloves are freshly sterile. The blood swirls and drains in the sink, stark against the off-white porcelain. The dried bits have to be scrubbed away with soap and water, leave his skin pink from irritation.

Hansol picks out some gum. The song changes.

“Sorry about that,” Soonyoung says, coming around the counter. The go-to customer service line feels misplaced, but regardless, it’s what comes out of his mouth. He scans the items quickly, listening to Hansol humming quietly under his breath; nori, cola, sour grape candy, chapstick, flavored gum, scratching at the back of his neck while the total loads on the register. “Didn’t even catch the guy,” Soonyoung mutters. The register blinks and makes a painfully synthesized bell noise, tinny. “That’ll be nine thousand five hundred won.”

Hansol hands over the cash, bills wrinkled. Soonyoung feels the weight of his gaze on him while he sorts out the change. Hansol’s hair is blonde—he can see that now, though in the blown out colors of the other night, Soonyoung had first thought that it might have been brown.

Hansol stares at Soonyoung’s hands, trying to figure out if there’s a particular point where the blood comes out. He realizes belatedly that Soonyoung is staring at him expectantly.

“Sorry, what?” Hansol says, embarrassed.

Soonyoung grins, holding out his hand. “Your change.”

Hansol averts his eyes and takes it, gripping the handles of the flimsy plastic bag. Nearly trips over his own feet on the way towards the sliding door, glancing back over his shoulder against his own will. He can’t help it, the looking.

“I work most nights,” Soonyoung says, feeling bold. Well, maybe it’s just the blood loss, the leftover adrenaline talking. Soonyoung doesn’t know, doesn’t care if his brain is white-knighting the hell out of Hansol right now. He’s a geology major, magnetism exists for real, there’s proof of it, but it’s not like anybody gets that shit anyway, right?

Hansol nods, neck turning an amusing shade of pink. “See you,” he says meekly, and then shuffles out the sliding doors.

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung’s head hangs off the couch cushions, legs hooked over the back of it. He points at Seungcheol as he searches under the television for a DVD. “You have to stop hitting on my lab partner when he comes here,” he says.

Seungcheol waves dismissively at him. “I wasn’t flirting, just talking!”

Wonwoo pops a spoon out of his mouth, carton of banana flavored ice cream leaving a dark ring of condensation on the rough fabric of the couch. “You were absolutely flirting, hyung. It was seriously painful to watch.”

Sooyoung's head starts pounding, all the blood rushing into his skull. “See! I’m right! And I need that guy! Joshua is the only reason I’ve got a respectable grade in petrology between the store, my schedule, and the Syndicate.”

Wonwoo leans forward and flicks Soonyoung in the forehead. “What did the Syndicate ever do to you? If you’re gonna complain this much, go join the Hero’s Assembly and kick their asses yourself.”

Soonyoung rights himself on the couch, knocking a pillow to the ground. “I don’t wanna be a hero,” he complains. “I just wanna look at rocks!”

“You already look at rocks,” Seungcheol says. “I just wanna look at your lab partner.”

Wonwoo cackles. Soonyoung faceplants into the arm of the couch, then huffs as he flips over onto his back. “Well! Then quit being so greasy! If you scare him off and I have to go all the way to his place to study, I’m not gonna have enough time in the days left to have any fun!”

Wonwoo sticks his spoon into the ice-cream upright like a stake. “So fun-time and annoy-your-roommates-time are separate entities now? What the hell are you up to?”

Soonyoung blushes, insta-love. “Nothing,” he says guiltily.

Seungcheol slides a DVD into the player and flops onto the couch. “Don’t wanna know,” he says airliy, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

Wonwoo leans forward to see around Seungcheol. “ _I_ do. Where did you even meet someone? You complain about the annoying people in your lectures _all_ the time.”

“Nowhere. And I didn’t. Don’t? What are we watching? Can I have some of your ice cream?”

“Quit changing the subject,” Wonwoo complains, at the same time Seungcheol picks up the remote, leans backwards into the cushions and says, “Duh, it’s Scott Pilgrim Versus The World.”

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung’s about to launch his backpack into the _ROAD CLOSED FOR REPAIR_ sign when the revving of a motorcycle engine startles him out of his deeply misplaced rage.

Soonyoung sighs, closing his eyes to compose himself. Kind of wants to launch his backpack into the direction of the noise now, instead—it’d be really satisfying, that’s for sure, considering the hefty weight of a few textbooks and a jumble of loose pens. He came straight from class to the store, and now all he wants to do is lay down. Even concrete is looking pretty inviting right now. It’s already too late—or early?—for the subway system to be running, and he doubts transit security is gonna let him past the turnstiles with a couple newly hatched wounds saying hello to the new world like this, blood rusting over in the microscopic grooves of his palms like it belongs there. It’s been a long day.

He turns around, heading for the next street over, and then the motorcycle rider starts walking the bike backwards, kicks out the stand, and tugs off his helmet. It’s Hansol, and he’s got helmet hair like no other.

“Hey!” Hansol says brightly. He’s idling off center in a circular pool of light from the streetlamp, old chrome glittering.

Soonyoung drops his backpack for real. It’s like hallucinating an oasis in the desert—he could kiss the guy. Kind of already wants to. Soonyoung swallows.

“You ride a motorcycle?” he says instead.

Hansol hugs the helmet to his chest. “Not really,” he admits. “It’s noodle delivery! Not my bike.” Soonyoung squints at the fading vinyl sticker plastered to the body behind the wheel, fails to make the chain name out. He’ll have to look it up later, or ask Wonwoo.

“Night shift, huh,” Soonyoung offers, grimacing.

“I like the night shift, sort of. Sometimes people fall asleep before I get to their door, so. Free jjajangmyeon!” He pats the carry-out bag in the baskets strapped to the back of the bike. “‘Cause I still gotta charge ‘em.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

Hansol nods. “More often than you’d think.” He scratches at his neck, gaze flickering between two points. “Um, not to be repetitive or anything, but are you okay? Your hands look a little…”

Soonyoung glances down at his palms, indexing the injury again. “Oh,” he says, “I just fell chasing that guy again—it’s only scrapes, I think, so it’s fine.”

Hansol shifts his weight over the bike, switching the helmet from beneath one arm to the other. “Do you mind if I—my apartment is close by—I can take a quick look at it,” he stammers. He pats the seat of the bike, smile pulling sideways. “Our first aid kit is brand new. And then I can give you a ride home?”

Soonyoung hikes his backpack back up onto his shoulders, digging the toe of his sneakers into the gravel, face warm. Truth be told, it’s just mildly scraped up palms, and he’s definitely not going to die of blood loss or infection any time soon, but if this is the chance, Soonyoung’s going to take it. He wills the blood out of his face and smiles. “Sure.”

Shaking his bangs away again, Hansol holds the helmet out in offering, kicking the bike stand back up. “I don’t live far,” he says.

Soonyoung laughs. Makes his way over. Takes the helmet, smile elastic. “Yes, I know.”

Hansol drags a hand down his face, embarrassed. “Right,” he says. He scoots forward on the seat, nervously wraps his hands around the grips on the handlebars, watches with interest over his shoulder as Soonyoung swings a leg over the motorcycle, squeezing in behind Hansol and the basket strapped to the back.

Soonyoung slides the helmet on, foam tight against his temples and the back of his head.

“You good?” asks Hansol. The sound is garbled through the thick material of the visor, so Soonyoung just nods. Carefully places one hand on Hansol’s shoulder, and the other around his waist, forgetting about the half dried blood that's about to stain the fabric of his t-shirt.

“All good,” squeaks Soonyoung. Hansol adjusts his grip on the handles.

The motorbike lurches forward.

 

 

 

 

“Ow,” hisses Soonyoung, pulling his hand back.

Hansol pinches the skin of it and tugs it towards him again, dabbing at Soonyoung’s palm with a wet paper towel. “Don’t be a baby,” he says.

“I’m not being a baby,” complains Soonyoung, wiggling his fingers. “It really hurts!” His heels bump quietly against the cabinets, sitting on the countertop.

Hansol’s eyebrows draw together in concentration, popping the cap from the rubbing alcohol and dabbing the cuts with it, too. “This is mega-low on the pain scale, hyung,” he says, smile creeping slowly across his face. He stretches the skin of Soonyoung’s palm, taking a closer look. Soonyoung sucks air in through his teeth, face twisting.

Somebody comes out from the hallway, scrubbing at their face with the heels of their hands. “Hansol,” they say. “Are you okay? I thought I—who’s this?”

Soonyoung grins sheepishly. Hansol continues dabbing at the scrapes on Soonyoung’s palm with wet paper towel. “This is Soonyoung.” Pause. “Hyung.” He nods his head back towards the hall. “This is my roommate, Myungho.”

“Hi,” Soonyoung says.

Minghao gives him a once over. “Hello,” he says politely. He looks between them, then back at Hansol, and smiles. “You’re okay, then?”

Hansol shoots him a look like a son being embarrassed by their father. “I’m okay, hyung,” he says.

“Alright,” Minghao says. He walks past them to grab a glass of water, takes an appraising look at the state of Soonyoung’s knuckles with a raised brow, and then disappears back into the dark hall. Soonyoung watches him as he goes, feeling a little like he’s taken some of the air in the room with him, like he needs to shiver.

“Does Myungho have powers too?” Soonyoung whispers, wincing at the sting of the raw cuts in his hands. Hansol has him spreading his fingers out, feeling around for fragments of broken bone.

Hansol’s eyes flicker up, thinking. “It’s complicated?” he says, unsurely, tugging Soonyoung’s scrapes under the running water from the sink tap.

“Complicated how?”

“Just. Like. Legally?”

“Legally?” Soonyoung repeats. Hansol nods. Mirrors Soonyoung’s face as he winces. “That hurts, by the way.”

“Right here?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Give it a minute.”

Hansol turns the tap off a squeaky turn of a knob. Pauses, nudging a tendon back into place. He meets Soonyoung’s eyes, expression open, lingering on accident. “Do you, like,” he says, glancing towards the bags he dropped by the doorway. “Do you wanna stay and help me eat all these leftover noodles?”

“Myungho isn’t gonna wanna join us?”

Hansol laughs, shakes his head, bangs falling back into his eyelashes, caught. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t like to be disturbed from his sleep, and he’s not into greasy food lately, anyway. I’ve got lots of things on bluray incase we run out of topics in conversation.” He straightens out each of Soonyoung’s fingers again, one by one by one. “Is that better?”

“Yes. To both questions.”

Hansol smiles, pearly rows of tic-tac teeth, pulling plastic take-out bowls out of the bag. “Good that you’re staying,” he says, nodding sagely, voice airy. “I hear the city’s dangerous around here at night.” Soonyoung laughs, easy. “Y’know, robberies and everything.”

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung doesn’t _actually_ stay the night. To be honest, he’s kind of a fan of the traditional will-they-won’t-they, likes the tip toeing around it involves, and even if he’s being especially generous, he can only count the half-night at Hansol’s as a second date, not a third. Hansol asks awkwardly to exchange numbers in the doorway as Soonyoung’s hiking his backpack back up his shoulders, offering up his own phone for Soonyoung to type everything out it. Soonyoung’s own cell is dead, and Seungcheol probably thinks _he’s_ dead by now, considering everything.  He’s usually home by now, wakes up the whole floor by accidentally slamming the front door every night.

“I’ll text you,” says Hansol, stretching upwards to reach the top of the doorframe, taking the space up, the look of him blurred and blown out by the fluorescent lights. Soonyoung almost expects him to do a pull-up or swing.

“Cool,” says Soonyoung. He can be cool. He thinks of Hansol’s hand sliding up his forearm to the crook of his elbow, checking for cuts. A smile. “I’ll, uh, respond.”

 

 

 

 

Joshua flicks Soonyoung’s forehead. “What’s your deal?” he asks, laughing lightly. “You’re losing focus way faster than usual.”

Soonyoung blinks. Waits for the world to come back into focus. “I was—I stayed up kinda late last night—”

“Oh, the convenience store schedule’s still changing? I thought your shifts all ended at three in the morning now.”

Soonyoung straightens his worksheets out. “They do,” he says guiltily.

Joshua laughs again. “What were you d—”

Soonyoung reaches across the table and covers his mouth. “Shhh!”

Wonwoo peeks around the wall into the living room. “Hm?” he says, smug.

“Nothing!” hisses Soonyoung. “Go away!”

Joshua cackles, muffled against Soonyoung’s palm.

Wonwoo squints. “Whatever you’re hiding from me, I’ll find it out somehow. You know I will.”

“Is that his superpower?” Joshua whispers.

“No,” says Soonyoung. Wonwoo hasn’t tested above zero on a power index exam in his life. If Soonyoung’s got anything to do with it, he never will. Wonwoo sticks his tongue out. Soonyoung scowls. “Not a power. He’s just a bastard.”

“I’m right here,” complains Wonwoo.

“Get lost!” says Soonyoung, exasperated.

Wonwoo grins devilishly. “Since you asked so nicely. Cheol-hyung will be home late, by the way.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “I know, I’m in the same group chat with you.”

“ _I_ know. It’s just that you get a little stupid in the head when you’re in love.”

“You’re in love?” asks Joshua, surprised.

“No!” squawks Soonyoung. Wonwoo’s already disappeared into his room, the faint, twinkly music of Legend of Zelda bleeding out into the living room. Joshua stares at him, expression open. Soonyoung feels his face get hot. “Geez. Can we talk about polysynthetic twinning again? I can’t stand that guy.”

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung knocks on the door, rolling his weight from his heels to his toes and back again. There’s some shuffling, a bit of screwing around with the lock and handle, and then the door swings open, revealing Minghao.

“Oh, hey,” Minghao says. Soonyoung feels that same thing again; big old black hole, all the energy in a ten foot radius compounding into Minghao, ice cold. “Hansol’s not here yet—he's always underestimating the time it takes to get from the noodle shop to home.”

Soonyoung smiles lopsidedly, lightly endeared. He even tried to show up a little later than Hansol suggested on purpose, intending to be fashionable. “How far is it?”

Minghao smiles, too. “Not that far. He just gets sidetracked.” Pause. “You can come in and wait, though.” He steps to the side to let Soonyoung past him, lingering as Soonyoung toes his shoes off into a neat row by the door. Awkwardly, he shuffles into the living room, eyeing the news channel on mute flickering across the television, and the face down book on the couch, spine cracked open to save the page.

Soonyoung takes a seat. He can't shake the feeling that Minghao is either appraising him or contemplating giving him the shovel talk, and now he wishes he had put on slightly more comprehensible clothes. Hansol’s mostly only seen him bleeding or covered in blood, so he felt like he didn’t need to put much effort into seeming attractive in comparison. He kind of forgot that Minghao was involved in at least a small portion of the equation at all. Soonyoung fidgets. Minghao sinks back into the couch.

“Um...” starts Soonyoung, looking to fill the creeping silence. Minghao glances up over the top of his book.

The door swings open. “I’m home,” Hansol says, monotone. Then, “Oh—Soonyoung-hyung —hi!”

“You’re late,” says Minghao, eyes trained on the pages.

“Only by ten minutes,” Hansol replies. He drops his bag by the door, on top of his tennis shoes, tugged off from his heels without ever untying the laced knots. He leans over the rear of the couch, has Soonyoung tilting his head back to look up at him from below. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” says Soonyoung simply. His 6:30 lecture was cancelled, and he doesn’t have a shift until eleven. Not like he was doing much to begin with, anyway.

Hansol gestures back at his bag. “Want to watch a movie?” he asks. “I just stopped and rented The Martian on DVD.”

 

 

 

 

The next time someone robs the convenience store, Soonyoung just gives the fuck up. He doesn’t even _think_ about running after the culprit, keeps all his blood inside of him where it belongs, and rewinds the security footage until he’s sure that this week’s criminal isn't the same guy as the one before. He seriously just doesn’t get it—who likes day old convenience store food enough to risk getting arrested for it? Not Soonyoung. He knows he’s cheap, but he also knows how long those prepackaged lunch boxes have been chilling on the shelf, and the refrigeration system definitely does not operate efficiently enough to keep that shit frozen. No thanks.

Instead, Soonyoung just pulls out his wallet, and adds the price of whatever the thief stole into the register. He’s not reporting any more losses to the manager, no fucking way. He even figured out how to get the security cameras working again all by himself.

Funnily enough, aside from the robbery, the rest of the shift has been monumentally slow. He's got his petrology textbook and homework out by the register, and is working through it at a similarly sluggish pace. Wistfully, Soonyoung wishes Joshua Hong were here to explain fractional crystallization to him for the hundredth time. The bell above the door rings. In walks Minghao, clad in a t-shirt too poorly fitted for it to be his own. His sneakers squeak on the freshly mopped floor.

“Soonyoung-hyung,” Minghao says, surprised, eyebrows lifting incrementally. “This is the corner store that gets robbed all the time?”

Soonyoung puts his pen down in the open spine of the textbook. “Well, it’s a fairly new development. But yes. This is the one.”

Minghao hums. “I guess I don’t come here enough to really notice.” He picks up a crinkly bag of popcorn then sets it back down in the display again. “There’s a 7-11 nearby that carries this brand of grape flavored gummy things Hansolie likes, so we usually go there.”

“The green ones?”

"Yeah, the green ones…” Minghao scans the aisles, squinting as he trails off. “Can I just ask if you know where the green tea is?"

"Which brand?"

"Whichever."

"Refrigerator isle along the back, there. Should be opposite from where the chips all are."

"Thanks," Minghao says, disappearing for a minute and then coming back to drop the bottles on the check-out counter. He seems to already know what the price is going to be, flattening a few bills before handing them over.

Minghao eyes his textbook, digging around in his pockets for extra change. “How'd you know you wanted to be a geologist?”

Soonyoung pauses, thinking. He never has any clue how to answer this question, regardless of the frequency he's asked it.

When he was a kid, everyone thought he should be a paramedic, a nurse, a doctor, a _something_ , but the thought of his whole life being defined by a power he didn't even choose really just made him itch. Fast forward to a gen-ed requirement he took as an undeclared college freshman halfway committed to just dropping out already, and bam; there it is. Rocks!

Minghao blinks at him, still waiting patiently. Soonyoung smiles, sheepish, grin stretching out like a sleepy cat. “Do you ever just, uh...know something?” he says. Great. Nailed it.

Minghao smiles, malleable, easy in that way Minghao always seems to have about him. The look of it punches straight into Soonyoung’s heart, superhero style. He feels embarrassed, suddenly, but can't find a particularly concrete reason why.

Minghao's hands are cold when Soonyoung passes his change into them, coins clanging together noisily. _Do you ever just know something?_ What the hell kind of line was that?

“Yes,” Minghao says, eyes glimmering. Soonyoung’s seeing in dolly zooms, the rest of his vision warped out. “Constantly.”

 

 

 

 

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” Soonyoung says, busting through Wonwoo’s bedroom doorway. “What should you do if you like someone, but you don’t know if they know you like them, but you also think their flatmate likes them, but they don’t know that either?”

Wonwoo shuts his finance textbook. “You think Seungcheol-hyung likes me?”

Soonyoung smacks his palm against his face, dragging it down with the last bit of willpower he has to put up with Wonwoo’s shit. “Not everything is about you, Jeon Wonwoo. This is a serious crisis!”

“Well, I need better information. Is this about your latest mystery crush?”

Soonyoung clams up, feeling himself flush all the way down to his collarbones. “Uhm,” he says, stilted. “Yes.”

“And you think your crushes flatmate also has a crush on your crush?”

“Maybe? His name is Myungho…”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, then closes it, thinking. “Wait, the flatmate or the crush?”

“The flatmate. The crush is Hansol.”

Wonwoo sorts through a mental rolodex of people he knows. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“Well, duh.”

“Do you like the flatmate too?”

Soonyoung pauses. “No?”

“Why was that a question? Haven’t you only met him once?”

Soonyoung’s brain stutters to a halt. “Uhm. He makes me feel weird?”

Wonwoo elects to ignore the second part of that. “Besides,” he says, rolling his eyes, “people don’t usually move in with people they’re interested in unless they’re already dating, right? Isn’t that some kind of universal principle?”

“Yes, but...things don’t always work out that way, and everything seems so…”

“Muddy?”

“Muddy.”

Wonwoo shrugs, going back to his textbook, glasses sliding at a snail’s pace down the bridge of his nose. “What’s the harm in going for it, then?”

Soonyoung stares at him, thinking the obvious; embarrassment. Heartbreak. A sizeable blow to his wavering self esteem. Et cetera, et cetera, Jeon Wonwoo you name it.

Wonwoo chews on his pencap, then brighten’s visibly. “Have you shown him the blood thing yet?”

“Sort of?” Soonyoung replies. “What—is it supposed to make me seem sexy?”

Wonwoo shrugs again. “Maybe. People these days are into all sorts of things. Believe me.”

 

 

 

 

Hansol wasn’t kidding when he said he had a prolific DVD collection, currently being converted to bluray. It’s too hot to do much else _but_ watch movies with the lights off and the napkin-thin curtains drawn closed. Hansol insisted that they watch _2001: A Space Odyssey_ , but Soonyoung’s sort of lost track of the plot, and Hansol is either half asleep or watching pigeons mess around on the sill outside the window.

Soonyoung hasn’t moved since Hansol put the movie in, his ear pressed against the vague, unlabeled space between Hansol’s chest and the cusp of his shoulder. His belt has been stabbing into Soonyoung’s stomach for an hour now, but touching Hansol to this extent is sort of like hugging an ibuprofen, so it's mostly a non-issue. Soonyoung shifts. Puts his chin on Hansol’s chest.

He looks kind of ridiculous from the low angle, but Soonyoung stares at his eyelashes, the hint of bone jutting out from the corner of his jaw with his head towards the screen like that. Soonyoung pokes the underside of Hansol’s chin, watches as he picks his head up and glances down. Soonyoung smiles skittishly, cheeks bunching up. On screen, the movie hits the stargate sequence, bright colors rolling forwards, the volume so low the score sounds like a distant hum.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Hansol says curiously.

Soonyoung smile widens sheepishly, caught. “Do you not want me to?”

Hansol’s eye flit away, thinking. “I want you to do whatever you want to do. That’d be good.”

“Well, I don’t wanna do anything you don’t wanna do.”

Hansol grins. He’s fiddling with the tag in the back of Soonyoung’s shirt collar. It makes Soonyoung’s neck itch, makes him shiver.

Soonyoung flusters. “Well,” he says, stiff. Hansol tilts his head sideways, entertained. “Uhm...I’m going to kiss you now.”

Hansol laughs, tipping his head back against the arm of the couch, hands squeezing at the muscles of Soonyoung’s shoulders. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Soonyoung scowls. Has to tilt Hansol’s face back down towards him so he doesn’t end up frenching the underside of his chin or his nose, palms flat against either cheek, fingers splayed towards his ears. Hansol wiggles his eyebrows.

“Stop that,” complains Soonyoung. Hansol stops. Then, he knots his fingers into the hair at the nape of Soonyoung’s neck, tugging him upwards. For a second its less of a kiss, more smiling in dangerous proximity until Soonyoung shifts his weight up onto his elbows, pressing them into the couch. Hansol hums. They break apart with a wet pop, and then Hansol starts laughing.

“What!” defends Soonyoung.

“You taste like jjajangmyeon,” Hansol says.

Soonyoung flicks him. “Good catch. It’s probably from the jjajangmyeon.”

The front door rattles. Minghao’s voice filters in, muffled through the wood. “You better not be making out when I open this door.”

Soonyoung sits up and rolls off Hansol, nearly falls on the floor. Attempts to will the redness in his face away. He laughs, embarrassed. Whispers, “I thought he was gonna say we better not be naked.”

Hansol pulls himself up onto his elbows, then sits up completely, weight on his hands. “Nah, he’s seen me naked. Don’t know about you though.” Soonyoung stares at him. Hansol shrugs. “Roommates. One bathroom. Yadda yadda...plus, Myungho-hyung can’t sense if we’re naked. That’s not what his powers are for.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t super?”

“I said it was complicated!”

Minghao opens the door. He hangs his raincoat at the hooks in the entryway, then toes his shoes off in a neat row. “I can’t do anything fancy, really,” he says, casual. “I just feel your feelings a little.” A glance between them. “They’re very cute.”

“ _Hyung,_ ” Hansol complains. Soonyoung sits up, peers at him over the back of the couch.

“What?” says Minghao. “It’s nothing I haven’t felt before. You guys want lettuce wraps? I just bought pork belly at the grocery store.”

“What’s your PI score?” Soonyoung says, suspicious.

“Don’t have one. Snap peas or carrots?”

Hansol bumps fists with Minghao and flops back down on the couch. “You know how the association is with the emotional ability spectrum. Technically, Myungho doesn’t qualify. Snap peas, please.”

Minghao glances over his shoulder from the kitchen, already arranging ingredients on the cutting board. “It’s a flawed system.” Soonyoung starts getting the impression this is a spiel they’ve had practice in repeating ten to fifteen times. Minghao waves a bag of snap peas around until they both offer a thumbs up in approval. He looks at Soonyoung. “What’s yours?”

“Uhm,” Soonyoung starts. “Nine.” He winces, bracing for impact. PI scoring is a flawed system indeed. The nine usually gives off a pretty bad impression.

“Wow,” says Minghao, at the same time Hansol’s eyebrows jump up into his hairline.

“Really?”

Soonyoung picks at the fabric of the scratchy couch. “Yeah,” he says warily. “Only mind control and black matter manipulation outrank me. Unless they bumped up shapeshifting recently, too?”

“They did bump that,” Hansol says, pulling Soonyoung back down on top of him. “I saw it last week on the news! Healing got bumped to three.”

“Why?” says Minghao, nose wrinkling. “You can’t do any damage with it.”

“Apparently if you think about it hard enough, you can like, reverse-heal or something. So now it’s a three. I don’t really get the scale anymore, honestly.”

“You guys big on garlic?” Minghao asks, turning around again. Hansol nods. Minghao glances back over his shoulder, eyeing Soonyoung.. “Why are haemokinetics ranked so high, anyway? You’re the only one I’ve ever met.”

“Um. Technically capable of like, insta-death. Y’know, stop blood from passing through the heart, can pull it all out of people et cetera. Risk factor is pretty high. PIA holds re-ranking assemblies about it constantly.”

Hansol grins, a little smarmy. “Oh, so you’re _dangerous._ You’re the people the news anchors are always warning about on TV.”

Soonyoung shakes his head frantically. “Not really. I don’t have a lot of control over it. In elementary school I used to make little blood marbles spin around in the palm of my hand. It’s a great party trick. I usually can’t even focus it enough to construct a knife that’s actually sharp.”

“Huh,” says Minghao. “Can I see it?”

The pan in the kitchen starts sizzling.

 

 

 

 

“Hello?”

“Myungho-hyung has a show over the weekend,” Hansol says, voice crackling through the phone. He’s talking slow like he’s distracted, focused on something else. “I’m okay with going by myself since that’s what I normally do, but do you want to come?”

“Oh? Yeah, sure, tell me what day so I can try and get work off.” Soonyoung’s stomach flips, realizing this is enough to count as dating, maybe. Probably. “Why are you talking so funny?”

Hansol snickers. “Myungho is giving me the evil eye. He wanted me to make it very explicitly clear that you didn’t have to come and that _I_ was the one inviting you. I’m looking at his face right now. It doesn't seem like I’m doing a very good job?” A pause. “Oh, and Saturday. His set is about an hour, but he’s not first in the lineup, so if we show up around midnight we’ll probably leave around three? Whoops, I forgot to ask if you even like clubbing first. Hyung, do you like clubbing? You seem like you’d like clubbing.”

Soonyoung laughs, taking a second to comprehend everything Hansol just said. “I like clubbing, I like dancing, Saturday is good for me. Should I uhm...meet you at your place, then?”

The speaker spits out a noise that sounds a lot like Hansol covering the microphone with his palm and whispering with Minghao. “Yes!” says Hansol hastily. “I’ll text you the times.”

“Okay,” says Soonyoung. “See you then.”

“See you then!” Hansol replies. The line buzzes, dead.

Soonyoung pads into Wonwoo’s bedroom, flopping down next to him on the bed where he’s reading. “What am I supposed to wear to a club?” Soonyoung whines.

Wonwoo doesn’t give him the time a day. “How should I know,” he says, turning the page. He’s right, too. Wonwoo would wear a sweatsuit to his wedding if it was considered acceptable.

“You’re my best friend,” says Soonyoung, indignant.

“Ask Seungcheol.”

“Seungcheol’s an idiot,” Soonyoung says.

“Then look on instagram,” says Wonwoo.

Soonyoung sighs. Every last person in this city is useless, from the law enforcement down to his roommates.

“Love you,” Wonwoo says as he trudges off to his own room.

Soonyoung’s eyes are gonna roll back into his head and stay there. He sighs again. “Love you too.”

 

 

 

 

The dance club is one Soonyoung has never heard of, but the red painted floor gives the whole place the hazy glow of a summer campfire, everything lit up ghoulishly from below. They got to cut the line when Hansol said something about Minghao to the bouncer, and then Soonyoung trailed him through the pulsing crowd, clutching the back of his shirt like an anchor.

The dance floor condenses the closer they move to the front. The adrenaline from the very beginning of the outing is wearing off, and he’s starting to regret everything he ordered up at the bar, all the neon lights blowing out in his vision and leaving colorful trains in the back of his eyelids when he moves and blinks, dancing with Hansol. The music’s pace picks up, seamlessly transitioning from one hit into another.

Soonyoung sags against Hansol, face in his shoulder. “I don’t even like liquor.”

“Me either.”

Soonyoung pulls his head back to make a disgruntled face at him. “You did four shots!”

Hansol flicks the back of his head, laughing deep in his chest. “So did you.”

Soonyoung puts his face back in Hansol’s t-shirt. The alcohol is hitting him for real now, and he definitely doesn’t drink frequently enough to have any tolerance or idea who it’s going to turn him into. Based on his interactions with a drunk Seungcheol through the years, he’s only got about three total options; happy, emotional, or horny.

And—well. Hansol is right here. Somewhere behind him, Minghao’s face glows purple and blue in the DJ stand’s neon display, lights low. Soonyoung feels like his choices are about to narrow down to just the one.

Hansol releases him from his hold, grinning as he dances away towards the wall closer to the speakers and the spinboard, happy to try and distract Minghao. Soonyoung follows him, squeezing between clusters of people

Hansol starts climbing up the short staircase that leads up to Minghao and the mixing table, hanging off the railing, still nodding his head to the beat lazily. “When's your shift end?” he shouts, hands cupped around his mouth to be heard.

Minghao pulls one headphone away from his ear and glances at Hansol. “Three?”

Hansol considers. “What time is it now?”

Minghao presses the home button on his phone, _2:36_ appearing and disappearing in the glow. “Two-forty-ish. Why?”

Hansol grins, accidentally stumbled backwards down one step, and then turns his smile on Soonyoung. “I'm really drunk,” he says conclusively. “And hyung is dizzy. And we wanna hang out with _you.”_

Minghao slides a tab on the mixing board down with ease, and grins at Hansol. He looks to Soonyoung, holding up two fingers in a mock peace sign with his thumb sticking waywardly out. “Twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes,” repeats Hansol, and then he vaults the three steps back down to the dance floor and starts dragging Soonyoung back through the thick of it. He gets pushed onto a high stool at the bar, handed a cold glass of water with ice clanging tinnily against the sides like he's about to announce he's giving a toast.

The glass gets passed between him and Hansol as the last couple songs slide into each other and bass-boom the rest of Minghao’s set out. Hansol chews on the ice, foot still tapping out the rhythm, and messes with the more extravagant additions to Soonyoung’s outfit, grinning wide with all his teeth on display. He sticks his pinky finger through Soonyoung’s mini hoop earrings, ties the excess length of canvas belt in a confusing knot, and pulls the last strands standing out from the weave of the hole in Soonyoung’s jeans, piling up the fraying white string on the bar top.

Minghao appears, parting the red sea of dancers, shrugging himself into a fashionable coat. “Hyung,” he says, giving Soonyoung a once over. “Are you okay?” Soonyoung nods, grabbing the counter to steady himself when he stands. He laughs, looks at Hansol. “Ready to go?”

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung leans his face against the nape of Hansol’s neck, wrapping his arms around his middle. He feels like he’s moving through molasses, world in slow motion, conducting a study on lead-weighted limbs. Hansol laughs. Soonyoung grins to himself, breathes in. “You smell like soap,” he says fuzzily. “And baby powder.”

“Thanks,” Hansol replies, patting Soonyoung’s hands where they're clasped at his stomach, walk wobbling to accommodate the weight. “That’s supposed to be a good thing, right?”

“Really good thing.” He plants a wet kiss at the base of Hansol’s neck, enjoys how Hansol whines and squirms.

Minghao walks ahead, blotting out a dark spot against the neon glow of Neo-Seoul at night. When Soonyoung tries to focus on him, the sharp angles of the city all turn into curves. Minghao turns around, sways side to side as he takes steps backward to keep walking, eyeing the two of them.

“You guys know you didn’t have to drink that much, right?” he says, smarmy.

“The bartender tricked me,” Hansol replies, frowning, at the same time Soonyoung peels his face out of Hansol’s hair and says, “we were just waiting for _you_.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault,” Minghao replies, cackling brightly. He nods like he agrees, slows down so Soonyoung and Hansol can catch up.

“Yeah, exactly,” says Hansol.

Soonyoung removes himself from Hansol’s back, instead slings an arm around his shoulders. “We’re not even _that_ drunk!”

“You really, really are. I can feel it.”

“Then help me walk,” Soonyoung says, sagging like a thing defeated. “‘Cause I feel like I’m gonna fall over.”

“Mm,” Minghao hums, amused. “Gravity’s pretty hard to shake.”

Hansol perks up. “Not if you’re gravikinetic.”

Soonyoung lets Minghao pick up the other half his weight, vision spotting as he shifts. “I don’t think any of us are gravikentic. Myungho?”

“Not in recent memory.”

Soonyoung leans his head on Minghao’s shoulder. “You smell nice, too,” he says belatedly. Minghao raises his brows, makes an unimpressed face. Soonyoung barrels on, bleary. “Like a wood cupboard full of old tea. Expensive tea. Really nice. Floral.”

“Thank you,” says Minghao, laughing. He tilts his head, peering around Soonyoung to catch Hansol’s eye. “Do you wanna take the shortcut? The gate in the alley was still open when I left.”

Soonyoung groans. “I hate that alley.”

“We know,” says Hansol.

“I almost died in that alley,” whines Soonyoung.

“You almost passed out in that alley,” corrects Hansol.

“Yeah, so I hate that alley.”

Minghao snickers. Soonyoung makes a face, kicking lightly at his ankles. The concrete in the alley still has a bloody rust colored stain beneath Hansol’s creaky window. Minghao lets go of his half of Soonyoung to get the lobby door open, Hansol’s hand gripping tighter at Soonyoung’s waist to make up for it.

The keypad on the door beeps, locking automatically. Minghao bends down in the doorway to start taking his shoes off, tugging at the laces. “Night,” he says, muffled. Hansol tugs Soonyoung along down the hallway towards his bedroom doorway.

Soonyoung goes in for a kiss and misses, landing at the corner of Hansol’s mouth. Hansol laughs, wraps his arms around Soonyoung’s middle, and starts walking him backwards towards his room.

Over Hansol’s shoulder, Soonyoung catches Minghao’s eye. Finds him already looking, eyes glinting in the half dark. That feeling—kinetic pull—has Soonyoung staring, has heat glowing like a road flare somewhere deep inside his chest. Soonyoung bites Hansol’s ear with a wicked grin, stumbling as he trips on the threshold and drags Hansol back through the doorway, falling into the bed.

Hansol laughs, squashing Soonyoung’s face between his hands with little coordination, nosing down for a kiss. One knee hits the mattress between Soonyoung’s thighs, makes him groan. Hansol kisses his jaw, his throat, teeth scraping along the skin as he smiles.

“I’m really drunk,” sighs Soonyoung, squirming beneath him, head tipped back to give Hansol more room.

Hansol shifts upwards, bringing them face to face, centimeters away from bumping noses. “Me too,” he says, blinking slow. “Kind of sleepy also.” Soonyoung pushes his hand back through Hansol’s bangs, pinning them back from his forehead before letting them fall in his face again.

“Cool,” says Soonyoung, pulling on Hansol’s earlobes. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got whiskey dick, anyway.”

Hansol snickers, dropping his weight completely, face smothered in Soonyoung’s neck. He lays there for a few seconds before rolling off him, side by side in the bed.

“I have to work tomorrow,” Soonyoung says soullessly, staring at the ceiling.

Hansol rolls onto his side, looking at Soonyoung’s profile. He pulls on Soonyoung’s baby hairs, wispy around his ears. “I’ll come visit you,” he says. “If you’re lucky, maybe you won’t get robbed.”

 

 

 

 

“Why are you dressed like that?” says Minghao.

Soonyoung pouts, looking up from the register. He looks down at himself, having hoped his uniform vest would at least obscure part of the truth of his fashion horrors.

“I got sexiled and one of my roommates just threw some random clothes at me after kicking me out the door in my boxers?”

Hansol appears, rounding one of the chip displays. “Hyung sleeps mostly naked,” explains Hansol. He looks to Soonyoung. “Which roommate?”

“Seungcheol,” Soonyoung says, incredulous. “With my lab partner! Of all people!”

Minghao laughs. “So is the aquaman t-shirt his or your own?”

Soonyoung crosses his arms defensively. Against the hideous green employee vest, the bright orange fabric glows. “Mine,” he says.

“Aquaman is cool,” defends Hansol. “King of the sea. That’s most of earth.”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say he wasn’t.” Hansol waggles his eyebrows. Minghao turns back to Soonyoung. “Are the pants yours too?”

Soonyoung was hoping Minghao wouldn’t notice them. They’re black and plaid, clash weirdly with his sneakers. He feels like a misprinted Halloween decoration somebody left out way past the appropriate season, waving in the wind. “They’re Wonwoo’s,” he says desperately. Soonyoung’s no fashion mogul, but he definitely didn’t put this together on his own. Wouldn’t. “It was this, or look weird staying naked. Or I guess, make a blood suit.”

“The blood suit would be _way_ weirder than being naked, hyung.”

“Well, I’d probably pass out from the blood loss anyway. Then I’d just be naked again.”

“See,” says Minghao. “Weird.”

Soonyoung shrugs. “What are you guys doing here anyway?”

Hansol leans across the counter, smile swimming closer. He fixes Soonyoung’s name tag, then straightens up again.“I said I’d come by. Plus I just wanted to see you before I went home. I got an earlier shift at the noodle joint so now I get to sleep. And I brought Myungho-hyung with me ‘cause you said there’s a sale on green tea when you texted me, and I figured he was bored just sitting on the couch back home.”

Soonyoung smiles. “Yeah, it’s buy one get one free.” Minghao wanders off towards the refrigerators, hands in his pockets. Hansol pokes at Soonyoung’s fingers, picking each one up individually and then letting the tendons snap back down. “Any suspicious activity yet?”

Soonyoung shakes his head. “No. The police are hanging around in the neighborhood ever since that explosion a few blocks over, so I don’t think anybody's gonna try anything. They think this sector is the new villain super center.”

“Well that’s good,” says Hansol. “I mean, for you, just right now I guess. Not for the neighborhood, ‘cause we all live here. That kinda sucks actually.”

“It’s a win-lose,” Soonyoung says solemnly.

Minghao appears over the globe of Hansol’s shoulder. His smile in combination with Hansol’s makes Soonyoung want to fall into a well, or something equally dramatic that he could just lay in the bottom of forever. “Cheap green tea, though,” Minghao says happily.

Soonyoung returns the grins. “Cheap green tea, though,” he echoes.

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung thinks he’s finally pinpointed a few hours when his roommates won’t be at the apartment to pester him and Hansol when—

“Which one is that?” Wonwoo asks, holding a box of strawberry milk in one hand, holding the door frame with the other, looking past Hansol playing Mario Kart on the switch next to Soonyoung.

Soonyoung sputters. “What?”

“The roommate or the cr—”

“ _Wonu—_ ” Soonyoung interrupts.

“I’m Hansol,” says Hansol, the _paused_ screen lighting his face in technicolor.

Wonwoo thinks hard on that one. “So the crush.”

Soonyoung could tackle him. Burst a few blood vessels in his smarmy looking eyes. But he doesn’t. He just says, “Yeah,” willing his blush away when Hansol starts laughing, smacking him in the ribcage repeatedly.

Wonwoo smirks, satisfied, and walks off towards the kitchen.

“Wow,” says Hansol, smile pulling. He starfishes onto his back in Soonyoung’s bed, dropping the switch by the pillows. “So I’m _The Crush_.” He turns his head to look at Soonyoung. “Why’s Myungho-hyung The Roommate?”

Soonyoung steels himself. “Can I say something weird?”

Hansol rolls onto his side, hand squished between his cheek and the blankets, and blinks, eyelashes fanning out in soft shadow. “I won't think it's weird.”

Soonyoung's not so sure about that—but. That's not really the point. “Do you ever...uhm—think about Myungho?” he says tentatively. “In a sort of romantic way?”

Hansol keeps staring at him. He scratches the side of his nose with a blunt fingernail, thinking. His eyes flicker to the wall and back again. “Mm...I think so. Sometimes? Like I can't really help it.”

Soonyoung sighs, slightly relieved. “Me too,” he says. “Sorry if it's weird.”

“I don't think it's weird. The whole ambiguous emotional powers makes him hard to resist. Feels weird.”

Soonyoung flops down next to him and rolls onto his back. “I think I would still like him even without that.”

Hansol slips his hand inside the sleeve of Soonyoung's shirt, palm flat and warm against Soonyoung's shoulder, and leaves it there, scratching lightly with his nails. Soonyoung turns his head to look at him, catch Hansol smiling, elastic. “Me too.”

Shits like a black hole; no matter how far you go, always pulled back, back, back.

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung and Hansol originally planned to continue working their way through Hansol’s DVD collection, but after _Arrival,_ the sequel to _Pacific Rim_ was so bad that eventually Hansol just closed the laptop with his foot and rolled onto his stomach to go to sleep for the night after Soonyoung suggested so, the clock creeping past two o’clock in the morning.

A victim of the night shift, Hansol just huffs and keeps flipping over, turning from one side to the other. Soonyoung’s no better. He got the weekend off for once, and has no reason to do anything but lay around, but his regular sleep schedule still grips him. He’ll likely spend the whole night lying awake. Hansol slings an arm over Soonyoung’s chest, intending to use him like a pillow, but neither of them seem to be nearing unconsciousness any time soon. Soonyoung pushes Hansol back by his shoulder into the sheets, one elbow forcing the mattress to dip under his weight as he hovers over him. Hansol blinks, wide awake.

Soonyoung slides his hands beneath Hansol’s crewneck sweatshirt, rucking it up under his armpits, watching goosebumps pebble up on his skin in the cool air. Catching the drift, Hansol beams, pulling Soonyoung down on top of him, nails digging into Soonyoung’s upper back, the lines of his shoulder blades through his shirt. Soonyoung kisses his jaw, his throat, makes his way slowly back towards Hansol’s mouth.

“I thought you said we should sleep, hyung,” Hansol says, laughing a little, tilting his head back, letting Soonyoung nose along the underside of his jaw.

Soonyoung sits up, Hansol’s thigh slung around his hips. “Seemed more like we were just laying here,” he says, sliding his palms up Hansol’s flat stomach, the curve of his ribs. “And you look awake to me.”

Hansol laughs, straining upwards to pull the rest of his sweatshirt up and off over his head, tousling his hair, then flops back onto the mattress. “You too,” he mutters, tugging the hem of Soonyoung’s sweater up, flinging it onto the floor at the foot of the bed. A shiver walks it’s way down Soonyoung’s spine, skin exposed.

“You’re hot,” Hansol says plainly, making cow eyes.

Soonyoung preens, burying his face in Hansol’s stomach, kissing him below the navel, trailing back upwards lazily; sternum, collarbones, hyoid.

“You too,” replies Soonyoung, waiting for Hansol to stop straining his neck like that to kiss him, one hand snaking past the waistband of his boxers.

Hansol laughs and then moans, hips pushing up against Soonyoung’s palm, a hand twisting into Soonyoung’s hair.

Soonyoung snickers into Hansol’s mouth. “Quiet,” he says. “Myungho might hear us.”

Hansol just makes another throaty noise at that, tipping his head back to let Soonyoung at his windpipe. Soonyoung obliges him easily, planting wet, open mouthed kisses down his throat.

Soonyoung hums, abandoning jerking Hansol off to drop his weight down completely, wedging one thigh between Hansol’s. “Guess that might not be so bad, though, huh?”

Hansol shakes his head, huffing out a breath. “He’s really hot,” Hansol says plainly, voice breaking into a ragged sigh.

Soonyoung rolls them over, thumbs hooked into the waistband of Hansol’s boxers, feeling his weight settle over his hips, solid and warm. “Really hot,” Soonyoung agrees. He thinks of Minghao eating the air out of a room when he enters it, what it might be like to have that energy all up in here too. And Minghao is so—Soonyoung doesn’t know, really. But the look Minghao had given him in the dark that night, given Hansol, too, made him feel like  cheap slab of meat for sale at the grocery store, which sounds like a bad thing, but Soonyoung’s just no good at analogies. He’s not a creative writing major for a reason.

Hansol shifts his hips experimentally, head hanging low, humming out a sound like he didn’t mean to make a sound at all. His hair falls in a shaggy blonde halo around his head, in need of a cut, hands finding a steady place on Soonyoung’s stomach and chest.

“Hey,” says Soonyoung breathily. “Myungho’s an empath, right?”

Hansol squints at him, confused, hips stuttering as their cocks press together. “Yeah, he— _ah_ —is, among a couple other things. Low level stuff.”

“Do you think he can..?”

Hansol’s thighs squeeze around Soonyoung’s waist as he halts in his movement, drags his hands down his face with an embarrassed laugh. “Hyung, oh my god,” he says, peeking through the gaps between his fingers. “That’s so—I don’t know how far the range is.”

Soonyoung’s feeling dangerous, like maybe he earned his notorious PI score of nine. With ease, he flips them both over, pressing Hansol face-down into his bed. He kisses up Hansol’s back, reaches down to spread his thighs apart, pressing his hips against Hansol’s ass. “Do you think it’s far enough?”

 

 

 

 

Soonyoung squints into the sun, using his hand as a visor to block out some of the light. He's got a rogue text from Hansol sitting in his inbox that reads _come to the fountain :-) !!_ that he’d been staring at for the last fifteen minutes of class. Anticipation made him slightly jittery with nerves. The corner of his petrology textbook is stabbing him in the back through the flimsy fabric of his bag. Soonyoung squints harder.

It takes him a second to find Hansol, because in all honesty he probably needs to go to an optometrist and finally get some damn glasses, and he was mostly just looking for a lone blurry shape of Hansol’s relative height with hair the color of a graham cracker. As he makes his way closer, he realizes what he’s actually looking for is Hansol _and_ Minghao, sitting on the edge of the fountain. Hansol, somehow, is wearing a beanie in the dead heat of midsummer.

Minghao notices him first, looks up, and waves. Hansol shoves the rest of his yakgwa into his mouth and offers Soonyoung the plastic sleeve with a full-cheeked smile. Soonyoung takes a cookie and bites in it half, chewing through the sweetness.

“Good class?” asks Minghao.

Soonyoung shrugs. Tries desperately to get the way his heartbeat is dropping into his stomach with nerves under control. “It was okay.”

Hansol kicks lightly at Soonyoung’s ankle with the toe of his shoe. “Wanna go to Han river?” he says. “If we rent bikes, we can make it to the 9:00 light show at Banpo.”

“Sure.” It’s always cooler down by the water, and when the sun goes down, the heat might become more bearable.

Minghao starts heading away from the fountain while Soonyoung offers both hands to Hansol and helps him up, pulling back on the pendulum of their collective weight. Soonyoung squeezes Hansol’s fingers. “You brought Myungho,” he whispers, conspiratorial.

Hansol turns him around, starts marching him forward, hands on his shoulders. Soonyoung knows he’s smiling. He can hear it—how it changes something in Hansol’s voice. “Yes,” he whispers back. “I brought Myungho.”

 

 

 

 

Hansol climbs up on the safety railing along the river to see the light show around the trees.

It turns out that the closest bike rental joint was crushed into an intimidating pile of rubble during the last public showdown between Neo-Seoul’s ever present heroes and villains.

 _Hell,_ Soonyoung had said, rocks crunching beneath the soles of his sneakers. _It’s the apocalypse._

There was a bike wheel sticking halfway out of the river, mild current parting nearly around the rubber. Minghao had sighed. _It's not the apocalypse,_ he said. _Just really precise disaster._

So; they walked. Made it just into viewing range by the time the show started, lights glaring yellow, red, green, bright blue. Soonyoung’s eyes swirl technicolor, ears buzzing with the low hum of spraying water in the distance.

Then, they hit the street stalls, ducking under a yellow tent, the two of them watching with amusement as Soonyoung is forced to noisily drag an extra chair to their rickety metal table. Minghao orders for the three of them, asking for soju, first.

Soonyoung whines, making a face. “Please don’t make me get drunk,” he complains.

Minghao pops the cap off the glass soju bottle, pouring him a glass. “Just one shot,” he says. “Then we can eat tteokbokki and head home. Drinking too much makes me feel gross, anyway.”

“Just one,” Soonyoung threatens, taking the glass. He gives Minghao the evil eye as he throws it back, then gets distracted, amused by the sour twist of Hansol’s face when the burn hits his tongue. “There,” he says. The glass clangs loudly against the table as he slams it down, face screwed up against the flavor. “That makes one!”

“Thank you,” says Minghao primly, straightening up in his seat. He opens his mouth to say something else, but his phone vibrates violently against the table, buzzing and loud. He squints down at it, brows furrowed.

“Who is it?” asks Hansol, leaning over.

Minghao sighs and sits back. “It’s just an emergency alert for—well, you know. Something's going down in Seodaemun.”

“Again?” Hansol says warily. The action is creeping closer than usual. Soonyoung’s already got enough shit on his plate.

“It’s not karmic retribution, right?” says Soonyoung. “We haven’t been bad, have we?”

Hansol snorts. “Don’t say it like that,” he says. “And I mean, we haven’t been particularly good, either. What’s the metric, even?”

“I didn’t cheat on any exams,” offers Soonyoung. “And I don’t cheat on you. And I don’t eat my roommates leftovers anymore? And I stopped shunning Seungcheol for sleeping with Jisoo.”

“Well,” says Minghao, grinning devilishly. “I mean, who wouldn’t try to sleep with Jisoo?”

Soonyoung’s jaw drops, leaves enough room for a  “You haven’t even met Jisoo!”

“Hansollie showed me pictures,” Minghao says, laughing. “Very pretty.”

“Sorry,” says Hansol sheepishly.

Soonyoung looks at him, betrayed. “He’s so—he’s basically my _tutor._ He’s _happy_ to explain diagenesis to me hundreds of times until I finally get it. He’s not even cool!”

Hansol shrugs. “Tutors can be sexy.”

Minghao shrugs, too, then laughs at Soonyoung’s sour expression. “I’m only messing with you,” he says. He picks up his glass of water, brings it to his mouth but wont tip it back, eyes darting between the two of them and away again. “Jisoo isn’t a person I’m interested in like that, anyway.”

They’re circling it. Soonyoung’s not sure what the point of trying to be subtle is, honestly, since Minghao can see them coming from a mile away, but—they’re circling it, nonetheless. Minghao finally takes a sip of his water, brows lifting and eyes crossing as he stares into the bottom of the cup.

Soonyoung doesn’t do it often, but half an invitation is enough to put on a little show. He pulls the blood back into Minghao’s face, makes him color. Watches the flush creep down his neck to his chest. Soonyoung’s tried just about everything on himself, knows how this makes him feel like a palm pressed to a hot skillet, inescapable burn.

“You’re a menace,” says Minghao, demanding his gaze, holding it. Soonyoung grins, wide as the river, and releases Minghao from his hold. Hansol presses a hand to Minghao’s forehead, as if the blush is a sunburn he can heal from the outside in. It might be possible—Soonyoung would know.

The waitress comes by, sliding the plate of tteokbokki across the table. Hansol’s red plastic chair creaks as he leans forward, getting his face in the steam. He hums, picking up a set of stainless steel chopsticks, digging in immediately. Minghao shoves the soju bottle to the side, offers Soonyoung a set of chopsticks as he picks up his own.

All the cooking going on inside the tent doesn’t help with the heat at all. Minghao glances restlessly between them, chewing slowly. Hansol offers Minghao a bite, his foot pressing down over the toe of Soonyoung’s shoe under the table. Minghao’s phone vibrates noisily against the metal table again, but Minghao doesn’t bother to look at it.

“Not gonna get that?” Soonyoung asks, testing the waters. Ankle deep.

Minghao takes another bits of tteokbokki daintily, all teeth. “No,” he says, voice gritty as wet sand, brown sugar, crystallizing snow. Calm and even. Easy.

Soonyoung  feels the power of it drop like a brick into his stomach; knowing they could have him, right then. Then he watches as that feeling reaches Minghao, crossing his eyes, his face.

“Let’s eat quickly,” Minghao says, hasty. Hansol’s using a laminated menu to fan himself in the heat. “At least there’s A/C, back home.”

 

 

 

 

Hansol puts the key code in wrong as Soonyoung’s fingertips skitter up the divot of his back. The air in the building’s hallway is stale and semi-cool, a relief from the late summer air that’s so thick it makes the skin wet.

Soonyoung looks at Hansol. Minghao looks at Soonyoung’s mouth. Still leaning against the door, Hansol nods, the movement of it minuscule, half a smile and a blanket of curiosity flickering across his face. It happens as a study in slow motion; Minghao, anticipating Soonyoung already, grabs him lightly by the chin, fingers splayed against his jawbone, and tilts Soonyoung’s face up. It’s slightly horrifying, Soonyoung decides, closing his eyes to Minghao’s face swimming closer, to have his intentions, his feelings, all of it, known so intently. So naturally. Like falling backwards into a pool, peeling back the skin, leaving it floating behind him, red and raw against the sting of chlorine.

Minghao’s lips are soft. Soonyoung presses against him, winding his hands into Minghao’s hair, pulling gently at the strands as he opens his mouth. He still tastes faintly of soju and gochujang, has the dark bloom of late summer sticking to him.

They break apart with a quiet pop. Soonyoung looks at Hansol again, hands sliding down to wrap around Minghao's wrists, finds him still leaned back against the door, eyes bright as he glances between them.

“Um” Hansol says. Soonyoung nudges Minghao forward, eyes glimmering as he stares at Hansol over the slope of Minghao's shoulder. Hansol pushes up off the door, hands still wrung together behind his back. He glances at Soonyoung, Minghao then back again, smile stretching slowly. “Is this too weird?” he asks Minghao, inching closer.

Minghao shakes his head, just slightly, hands coming up to rest on Hansol’s shoulders, fingertips against the seam of his shirt. He pinches the fabric, idling. Hansol grabs him by the hips, unsure. The kiss is a study in increments, doing the steps one by one rather than all together. Soonyoung leans; watching, Hansol and Minghao breaking apart for half a second before nosing back in, the look of it fairly comfortable, like walking around in your apartment in the dark. You already know where all the corners are.

Soonyoung squeezes Minghao’s sides, makes him jolt and then laugh again, light, breaking the kiss as his shoulders twitch up to his ears, hands flying to cover Soonyoung’s on either side of him. “Quit it,” he says, like a squeeze toy with all the air forced out of him, going easily as Soonyoung tugs him backwards, away from the front door and towards Hansol’s bedroom. The distance it takes to get there is familiar, even in reverse. Soonyoung pushes him gently onto the bed, watching as Minghao falls flat on his back and pulls himself up onto his elbows immediately.

“Why are you making that face?” says Soonyoung, drawing Hansol down onto the bed, the mattress springs groaning under his weight as each knee hits the blankets. Maybe they should have gone to Minghao’s room, instead. Hansol leans forwards, one hand on either side of Minghao’s thighs and kisses him again, kind of aimlessly. Minghao pushes forward against him, posture sinking when Hansol breaks off and sits back on his heels.

Minghao makes the same face again but worse, the lines of it deepening.

“What?” says Hansol, slightly more well versed, toeing on embarrassed. “Was it bad?”

“No,” Minghao says, fast, shaking his head. If he wasn’t so resolutely committed to preserving his dignity, Soonyoung imagines he might cover his face and peek through his fingers, blushing bright red. “It’s just—you’re both very…”

“Transparent,” finishes Soonyoung.

“Much?” supplies Hansol. Minghao keeps making the face. “Sorry. Are we stressing you out? We can go!”

Minghao laughs, waving the suggestion away. “It’s your room,” he says plainly, like that clarifies anything. A glance. “And hyung came all the way here.”

Soonyoung shrugs. “My apartment’s not that far of a walk.”

Hansol shrugs, too. “It’s my room, but it’s our apartment,” he says, smiling, all teeth. Minghao won’t make them leave and he knows it, know’s he’s got him already, or still. Soonyoung keeps toying with the curled hairs at the nape of Hansol’s neck, distracting, other hand flat against Minghao’s knee, thumb pressed against the solid bone of it.

“Don’t be dorky,” complains Minghao. His leg twitches, ticklish, jerking at the knee. He leans back onto his hands, shoulders angling unevenly with the weight of it, relaxing further into the bed. Soonyoung’s still figuring out the logistics of three people in a creaky twin, watching as Hansol reassuringly pats Minghao’s lower stomach, then lands a smacking wet kiss on the apple of Soonyoung’s cheek.

“Not being dorky,” he says, easing Minghao flat onto the blankets, fingertips spread in a perfect arc below his navel. He throws a knee over Minghao’s hips, settling atop his pelvis “Just being me.”

 

 

 

 

Closed for the day and empty, the noodle joint Hansol works for ends up getting crushed into unrecognizable rubble rather early on a Thursday. Nobody got hurt, of course, but now Hansol’s out of a paycheck, and it’s a little bit concerning that clashes are no longer happening exclusively at night or on weekends. On the other hand, Hansol has a lot more free time, so Soonyoung doesn’t have to exclusively see him between classes or at late hours into the night, which is especially helpful considering he still doesn’t know exactly how to navigate the newfound Minghao territory without him.

Hansol’s just that simple. Not as in naive or uncomplicated, but in the sense that it doesn’t take a lot to keep him happy. Minghao needs silk shirts, regulated aircon, far more lean calories per meal than Soonyoung’s ever wanted in his life, and at least ten meters between him and every other human being when the empath gig starts making him a little stressed out. Soonyoung gets Hansol. He still only sometimes gets Minghao, all of it made worse by the fact that he knows Minghao’s getting _him_ at every given moment.

But—more free time. He’s looking at the bright side, or at least trying to. It’s a little difficult when the news keeps replaying security footage of the tiny single floor building crumbling using security footage from across the street, zooming in and out on vague, human-adjacent shapes, trying to figure out exactly who was involved.

“Agh,” says Hansol, slumping further against the foot of the couch. “I’m gonna miss the free noodles so much.”

Minghao laughs. “What about the money?”

Hansol nods sagely. “That, too. Maybe when Soonyoung gets canned, I can steal his job.”

Soonyoung, between them, cackles and stretches his legs out. The aircon is busted again, and he’s at least smart enough to know cold air sinks, so he’s relegated them to the floor, calves against the cool surface of the wood. Late summer in Neo-Seoul is a doomed month, makes the heat of July look like it was heaven. The TV volume buzzes, old and staticky.

Soonyoung can hear his heartbeat inside his head, ear pressed to the flat of Hansol’s shoulder, Minghao’s hand on his thigh, wide and too warm. “Aren’t the good guys supposed to win?” he says, warily eyeing the screen, staring down the news scroll rolling along the bottom of it.

Minghao sighs, the clips switching back towards a loop of an old building tipping over, weeks worth of failed mediation, even less successful public fights. Prospects seem pretty grim these days. He leans his chin down on the top of one of his pulled up knees, changes the channel. Says, “aren’t the good guys supposed to want to?”

 

 

 

 

“I have to do something,” Soonyoung says. “Eventually my shitty manager is gonna come in, notice something, and fire me like I deserve.”

“You don’t deserve to be fired,” Hansol says. “I mean, maybe you kind of do, but it’s not like you’re purposely letting people rob you.” He offers Soonyoung a bite of kimbap, plastic crinkling.

“I don’t think that argument will hold up very well in court.”

“Why would you be in court?”

“I don’t know. Can I get sued for unintentionally making the company lose money?”

Hansol considers, chewing. “Maybe.”

“See,” says Soonyoung. “So I really need to do something.”

“Well, don’t do anything too drastic. I’m not gonna visit you in jail.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not really my crowd.”

Soonyoung smacks him on the arm. Hansol’s face splits into a smile, unable to hold it back.

“I’m kidding!” he says, rubbing the spot. Soonyoung takes over, kneading the soft muscle of Hansol’s arm.

“Besides,” says Soonyoung, “it’s not like I can do anything with haemokinesis to stop the robberies by myself, anyway. I’ve got no control—I’d probably accidentally make myself bleed out.”

Minghao meanders back towards the check-out counters, rounding the end of the refrigerated aisle. “Did you ever consider,” he starts, “that your criminal of the week might just be a shapeshifter?”

Soonyoung’s eyes roll, switching his chin from the palm of one hand to the other, hinges of the rolling chair he nabbed from the supply closet creaking. “Yeah,” says Soonyoung. “But shapeshifters are, like, super rare. More-likely-to-be-struck-by-lightning-than-meet-one rare.”

“Rarer than biweekly robberies from a string of separate offenders at a shitty convenience store?”

Soonyoung open his mouth, then closes it. Well, Minghao’s got him there. “No,” he says. “I guess not.”

Minghao smiles, satisfied, and raises his eyebrows. “There’s your answer,” he says, hopping up onto the counter with Hansol.

“I guess,” says Soonyoung. “But what the hell am I supposed to do with it?”

 

 

 

 

“Oh my god,” Wonwoo says, waving around a frying pan with a smoking black ring burnt into it in one hand, spatula in the other. “How are you even sleeping with him? Seungcheol-hyung, Hong Jisoo is way out of your league.”

“He is not!” Seungcheol says, incredulous. He’s still cracking eggs into a glass bowl, gesturing accusatorially at Wonwoo with a broken shell still clutched in his hand. “He is so out of _your_ league that your shitty eyesight won’t even let you see the league!”

“Guys,” Soonyoung says.

Wonwoo pushes his glasses back up his nose with the heel of his hand, pan still smoking. “Who said I wanted to play in the league?”

Seungcheol sputters. Wonwoo smiles.

“Guys.”

“Uh-huh?” Wonwoo says, clearly not listening.

“I’m getting into vigilante justice,” Soonyoung says. Seungcheol moves on to whisking all the eggs together. Maybe he’s making an omelette. Soonyoung is still being ignored. “Then I’m going to burn down our apartment building, steal your identities, and max out all your credit cards.”

Soonyoung waits to be acknowledged. Wonwoo waves at him absently, turned towards the stove. “Sounds great. Tomorrows laundry day, so get all your dirty clothes together.”

“Both of you suck,” Soonyoung says, and then he walks out the door, pulls out his phone, and texts Minghao as he heads towards Hansol’s: _do you think you could feel it if someone was about to rob a convenience store? yes or no?_

 

 

 

 

“I don’t want revenge, or calamity, I just want good riddance! I’m not a villain! My paperwork is squeaky clean!”

“That’s true,” Hansol says.

“Still sounds a lot like revenge, though,” Minghao adds.

“It’s not revenge, it’s justice. I think.”

“Fine lines, Myungho-hyung. It’s okay to walk ‘em.”

Minghao makes a face. “Slippery slope.”

“I’ll wear special traction shoes,” says Soonyoung, defiant.

“They won’t go with your outfit,” says Minghao, smug. “Though I guess you’ve worn worse things before.”

Soonyoung feigns offense. Hansol, splayed long-ways along the couch, laughs loudly, reaching out to smack Soonyoung in the arm.

“Okay,” relents Soonyoung. “But seriously. You didn’t answer my question yet.”

“Could I feel it if someone was about to rob the convenience store?” repeats Minghao. Soonyoung nods, leans forward on the opposite end of the coffee table, eyes glittering. “Of course,” Minghao continues. “As long as that person didn’t have some power that directly counteracts mine.”

“Well, that’s unlikely,” says Hansol. “Even if they did, how would they even know to be using it at the time? It’s a total non-issue.”

Minghao raises one eyebrow. Looks back at Soonyoung.

“I have a shift at eleven,” Soonyoung says. “You guys wanna come?”

Hansol frowns, turning onto his side. “Can we at least get dinner first? That was the last of the noodles.”

 

 

 

 

“It’s simple,” says Soonyoung. “Myungho will just knock over the umbrella display near the front door, you’ll hang out with me behind the counter in case I accidentally go overboard with the blood, and we, as a group, are probably capable of taking down one dude and waiting for the police. Right?”

“We’re calling the police?” says Hansol. “I thought we were being vigilantes.”

Soonyoung considers. “I guess we can cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Minghao skeptically quirks a brow.

“We’ll figure it out!” defends Soonyoung. “Are we ready?”

“Ready,” says Hansol, already reaching under the counter to find the first aid kit.

“Ready,” echoes Minghao. He leans on the display by the entrance next to the umbrella stand, directly under the ceiling vent, cool A/C breeze ruffling his hair. Hansol unwraps a package of wintergreen chewing gum Soonyoung’s pretty sure nobody has paid for yet.

The shift, as expected, proceeds at the pace of a turtle that’s just finished running a marathon. Bone tired. Verging on dead. Soonyoung starts daydreaming about playing movies on the televisions meant for the security cameras when all of this is finally over.

The front door slides open. The noise has always reminded Soonyoung of a closing airlock in a space opera,  steam powered suction, then a click. Hansol pops his bubblegum.

The umbrellas tip over.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!
> 
> you can come find me on twittter @hochitown if you like :] (@hoshiologyphd is a public accnt i rarely use)
> 
> also this is unbeta'd as usual so if you spot any truly egregious errors feel free to let me know
> 
> BYEEEE


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